If Tomorrow Starts Without Me
by sophichka
Summary: A harmless magic trick. That's all it took. One young wizard, showing off, turning an apple purple to impress his new friends. That's all it took to plunge the world into another war. Jalex. AU from series 2 onwards.
1. War

_If tomorrow starts without me, and I'm not there to see,  
__If the sun should rise and find your eyes all filled with tears for me;  
__I wish so much you wouldn't cry the way you did today,  
__while thinking of the many things we didn't get to say._

_- _Attributed to David Romano -

* * *

It's almost an accident, at first. No one means for it to turn into this, no one meant for it to go this far.

A harmless magic trick.

That's all it took. One young wizard, showing off, turning an apple purple to impress his new friends.

That's all it took to plunge the world into another war.

It's different this time though. They said, didn't they, way back during the Cold War, that when World War Three came it would be the war to end all wars.

They were very nearly right.

It wasn't the war to end all wars, because at the end of this war there would no longer be a world. There would no longer be one side against the other; there would no longer be people to fight against people.

There would only be the survivors.

They don't know, don't understand, or maybe they're just too stupid to realise what they're getting themselves into, what is going to happen if they carry on. It's MAD they say, those politicians, sitting in a big white house, sitting behind a glossy black door, it's MAD because each side could easily overpower the other, one side has magic, the other has bombs. Big, scary, apocalypse style bombs.

If they knew it was mad, Alex thought, why did they do it? Why did they carry on if they knew what they were unleashing was going to be so crazy?

But then it was explained to her.

MAD. Mutually Assured Destruction.

No matter what happened, both sides would lose.

* * *

She's not sure how long it goes on, this tense standoff, waiting for one side or the other to strike. She'd like to say she stays entirely unaffected by it, remains her usual self, but she knows she would be lying. It's like a fuse that's been lit, you know that it's going to blow, you just don't know when.

They try to carry life on as normal, they open the Substation, they go to school, but they're the outsiders now, the ones that no one will talk to, the ones shunned in the hallways.

They retreat into themselves; they try to avoid drawing attention to the family. They live quietly, using magic as discretely as possible. They don't want to shorten the fuse at all; they want to keep it as long as possible. Neither side want the war to break out, but they know that now, nothing will stop it.

And one day, it will inevitably happen.

The war will begin.

* * *

It's hard to say what starts the actual war, what starts the bombs, the curse spells, it just happens. One day Alex wakes up, looks out of her window, and knows that it's all over. The war has begun, and life is never going to be the same again.

Her first thought is to run, to get the hell out of New York, find somewhere safe.

But then she remembers.

Nowhere is safe.

She creeps out of bed, and inches her door open, terrified about what she may find awaiting her. She's so full of dread, she's convinced herself that something dreadful has happened whilst she slept that it's actually a shock when she opens her door and finds the house as normal. She blinks several times, rubbing at her eyes, almost unable to believe that everything looks fine.

Sure, if she opens the curtains she will see the devastation, and if she listens closely she can hear the bangs of the bombs and the whistles of the curse spells, but her house is like a little oasis of peace. She creeps through into her parents' room, unable to shake off the feeling of unease. Her parents are sleeping peacefully though, and she decides not to wake them, she wants them to have a few more hours before their lives go crazy.

She cautiously pushes open Max's door, seeing him huddled on the windowsill, staring out at the city with a horrified look on his face. She slides in behind him, and pulls him close, resting her chin on his head, comforting herself as well as Max with the contact. Together they look out over the bleak landscape that was once New York City. Skyscrapers had been felled like trees, and there are craters where bombs had been dropped on supposed "wizarding hotspots."

She can see the wizards, standing on the roofs of the buildings that remain, the sparks shooting out of their wands as they cast their spells. She watches in disbelief as a wizard brings a charter plane down, the wings screaming in protest as the pilot desperately tries to stop the descent, but human technology is useless against the wizard's spell.

Alex realises with a sickening feeling that this is it. This is the last day.

The door creaks open again and she tenses, spinning her head around, wishing that she'd had the sense to bring her wand.

She lets out an audible sigh of relief when she realises that it's only Justin. He too comes and embraces his siblings, and instead of throwing him off like she normally would, Alex leans into the contact, gaining some comfort from it. Max lets out a whimper as he sees a bomb fall where Wiz Tech stood, and Alex realises that she's never heard anything so heartbreaking in her whole life. It's not a whimper of sorrow or anger; it's a whimper of defeat.

* * *

Later on she'll realise that that was the moment her whole life changed, watching the bomb fall on Wiz Tech, hearing her father's exclamation of horror as he woke up and saw the devastation. She hears, rather than sees, him run out of the door, and then she sees him standing in the street, her mother running out moments later, pleading, begging him to go back inside.

And then she watches in horror as a gunman appears and shoots them both. Point-blank range, straight in the heart.

They're dead.

She feels Justin push her and Max off the window, feels him drag her under the bed, but she doesn't, _can't, _process any of it. She feels Justin's arms go back around her and Max, she feels Max shaking with sobs of fear and sorrow, but she's numb.

She can't breathe, her breaths coming in shallow and fast, panicky. She can feel someone rubbing soothing circles on her back, but she ignores them, focusing on returning her breathing to normal. She puts her head between her knees, pushing off Justin's arms and focusing on keeping the breaths coming.

In and out, in and out.

When she finally looks up she sees Max crying, his face red and puffy from the tears. She snakes her arms around him, drawing him close and then leaning back into Justin. She closes her eyes, tries to go back to sleep, hoping that maybe this is just a nightmare, but she feels Justin shaking her, refusing to let her drift off.

"Alex," he hisses, "Alex, get up. We need to get out of here."

She gets up, reluctantly, letting him lead her back into her room. He grabs a bag and thrusts it at her, before going back to Max's room. She stares at it, not understanding why he's given it to her, before she realises.

They're packing.

Hurriedly she throws in the few essentials, and the things she can't live without. She grabs her wand and sticks it down her shirt, hoping no one will think to look for it there.

She creeps down the stairs slowly, and into the den, where she is sure that Justin and Max will be. She sees Justin throwing books haphazardly into a bag already overflowing. He turns around and sees her standing there.

"Come on," he says, grabbing hold of her and Max's hands, "We need to go."

* * *

She's not sure where it is they go first, she just remembers driving and driving, the loss of their parents and the outbreak of war causing the siblings not to argue on a road trip for the first time in their lives.

Justin drives, Alex riding shotgun beside him, her face devoid of emotion. Max is curled up in a ball on the backseat, eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. They can't draw attention to themselves; they can't give anybody any reason to stop them, to hurt them, to kill them.

Alex has lost track of where they are, she stopped concentrating when they hit Ohio. She knows that they left Ohio behind a long time ago now, but she doesn't have the will to try and concentrate on where they are. She thinks they must be somewhere in the South, judging by the landscape, but she can't be bothered to lift her head and look at the road signs.

Finally, after what feels like months but in reality was less than a day, Justin stops outside a small hotel. Alex steps out of the car, unsure, her foot hitting dry, sun baked ground. She looks around and sees that they're in a village; a tiny one: a few houses, a gas station and the hotel are all that the village consists of.

"Where are we?" she asks, twisting around to look at Justin.

"Texas," he replies "I just drove until I found a village small enough and far enough away from major cities not to be bothered with. We're evacuating ourselves."

Alex has heard stories of evacuees, seen camps on television, kids from Darfur wandering around beside green tents with that hungry look in their eyes, not hunger, desperation. This seems a world away but all too similar, the great American desert in exchange for the African, a wizarding war instead of political upheaval, genocide all the same. She wonders if the passers by see that hunger in their eyes, the tell take sign that they too are more desperate than she could ever have imagined. Bitterly, selfishly, she thinks that at least those children had a camp, some kind of kin, all there is for her are her two brothers and what little money she had foresight to bring.

They check into a motel, telling the girl they'll be staying for one night. When they reach the room they pull the curtains closed, and all tumble into one bed, hugging each other close, gaining some comfort from the fact that they are still together, still alive.

But they know that it can only last so long.

* * *

Alex wakes up the next morning, disentangling herself from the sheets and standing up. She stretches, and walks quietly through to the bathroom. Twenty four hours. That's how long it's been since her parents were killed, yet it feels like it was several lifetimes ago.

She's quick in the shower, but rigorous, scrubbing off the dirt, the pain of the road. It isn't so bad she tells herself, lying, they'll get through this. Justin, she knows will want to get on the road again, go further, faster, as if that would help, if they can find them here, in this godforsaken town then they can find them anywhere.

She unlocks the door to find Justin still in bed, finally looking peaceful. She smiles, squints and she can almost pretend that they're back at home. Calmed a little, she turns to mirror to dry her hair. The reflection catches her unawares and soon all the calm is gone.

Max isn't there.

She drops the hairdryer, slides down the wall onto the floor, this can't be happening, to lose her parents and Max in one day? Not possible. Justin jerks up at hearing her slump to the ground and the hairdryer thud against the bed, seeing her slumped against the wall, her knees drawn up against her chest, tears streaking new marks down her face. He folds his arms around her, shushing her, soothing her.

He doesn't understand.

"Max," she chokes out, through her tears, "he's gone."

Justin tightens his grip on her, looking around fearfully, almost as if he is afraid that somebody's going to appear in the room. He rocks her from side to side, brushing her tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

"I'm sure he's gone out to get coffee or something" says Justin, voice as even as it can be.

Alex nods "must be."

They get up off the floor and get dressed. Max wouldn't just disappear. He's going to come back, soon. Still, when the hour hand on the clock moves past three it becomes clear he hasn't gone for breakfast. They ask the girl at the desk if she's seen him.

She's nice, even as she smacks gum. But she hasn't seen him since the night before.

They nod, tell her thank you, keep an eye out okay? Tell him we're looking for him.

They leave a number with the girl. Tell her, if you see him, make sure he gives us a call, going to head out of town for business. She raises an eyebrow

"You wanna call the cops or something?"

"No" they say "no cops, he'll find us just fine."

"Okay," she says, drawling, smacking her gum "if you're sure."

They smile, then they leave.

Justin keeps driving, and Alex keeps crying, on an endless loop, hour after hour, day after day. There's a new small town every day, each smaller than the last, a new motel, a new nameless girl at the desk. They never stop, they're not being chased but they're still running, running from life, from war. They drive through the outskirts of Seattle one day (they've been avoiding the cities, but they're curious, they want to know what's happened to the world) and see buildings felled, the entire city turned into a heap of rubble. Yet the bombs are still raining down on the city; the sparks from wands are still sending showers of light across the night sky.

Justin cries that night too, the two of them curled up together on the balcony outside their room, gaining every inch of comfort from the other as they can. They're too young, too innocent to have seen such things but they have. The war has cost them their families, their childhoods, their innocence. Alex rests her head on her brother's shoulder, unable to cry anymore because all her grief has been used up.

Somewhere in the distance the sun sets, and another day ends.

* * *

beta'd by the wonderful **augustmonsoon**, this story wouldn't be the same without her.

_I'd love some reviews, but favourites and alerts are just as nice ;)_

**_Can I get 5 reviews before the next update, maybe, please?_**


	2. Love

_I thought of all the yesterdays, the good ones and the bad,_  
_I thought of all the love we shared, and all the fun we had._  
_If I could relive yesterday, just even for a while,_  
_I'd say good-bye and kiss you, and maybe see you smile._

_-_Attributed to David Romano_ -_

* * *

It's torture, remembering; she knows this but she forces herself to remember anyway, she's scared that if she doesn't she'll forget them, that one day she'll wake up and not know who the ghosts flittering through her memories are. She holds tight to the memories, remembering the good times, the bad times, the happy times and the sad. She scared to let go, to move on. She has Justin still, but he's distant, closed off, the war and the burden of looking after her taking its toll.

She wishes she had had the chance to say goodbye to her parents, to tell her how much she loved them, but that was snatched away from her. She's angry and she's bitter, but most of all she's regretful, wishing she could do and say all the things she had never had the chance to.

She relies on Justin more and more, but he becomes more distant, more sarcastic, bitter every day. She wishes that he didn't blame her for all of this, for his life having turned out so different to how he had planned. He's become her sole provider, her guardian, but she knows that he resents the fact that she's taken away his chance at going to college, getting a good job.

She doesn't even know if they'll be able to have the competition anymore.

He brings the issue up one morning in another motel with another leaky shower, drip, drip, drip, all night long.

"Alex," his voice is hesitant, unsure.

"Mmhmm," she mumbles, concentrating on making her hair dry into loose curls, rather than a mass of spirals. It's shallow she knows, when the world is in upheaval, but she's making an effort to keep some semblance of normality in her life.

"Never mind," he says, losing his nerve at the last minute.

She makes him tell her, begging, pleading, cajoling it out of him.

"D'you think we'll still be able to have the competition, y'know, with Max gone?"

"Don't say that," she says, sagging against him, his arm going around her to steady her "he's not _gone_, he's fine, I know he is."

He humours her, although he fears the worst, has that feeling in his gut that just _tells _him that Max isn't fine, Max isn't alright. He holds her closer, wanting to tell her how much she means to him, how much he loves her, wants to protect her, make sure she's alright, but he doesn't, because he's _scared_.

He's Justin, he's fearless, the one who sorts out all her messes, he's her _big brother_.

And that's sort of the problem right there.

Because he keeps having to remind himself that Alex isn't just some random girl in his car, she's his _sister_. His infuriating, annoying, bossy, selfish little sister whom he loves regardless.

But he's not sure it's the _right _sort of love, not anymore.

But he doesn't say anything because he doesn't want to ruin it, this easy sort of companionship they have going now. Sure, she's tearful and moody, and he's bitter and closed off, but they go with it. They've got to know each other now, in the months of motels and cheap cars, months of sitting somewhere in the desert, watching the sun go down, and drinking beer warm from the sand straight from the can.

Sure it's certainly not perfect, the life they're living, but it's the one they've been given, so they're going to make the most of it.

* * *

Justin turns 19 one hot night in mid July. It's hard to believe that they've been running for half a year now, it seems to have passed so quickly. The night doesn't go much differently to how it normally goes, they're in Nevada now, so they sit and watch the sun go down, only tonight, Alex has managed to find them a bottle of whiskey, a bottle of Jack Daniels that someone had left on a wall. It's warm from the sun, but they drink it anyway.

"Happy 19th," Alex drawls, smirking at her brother and knocking back a gulp "I guess we're just gonna have to pretend it's your 21st"

The whiskey burns her nose as she inhales, and feels like she's swallowed fire at first, but it slowly cools to a warm sensation, warming her throat, and so she swigs from the bottle again, before passing it over to Justin.

He watches her pull out a packet of cigarettes, watches as she lights one up, the smoke curling lazily up from her mouth, and wonders where the Alex he knew in New York had gone. That Alex had been loud and rebellious, but this Alex, sitting in the last shadows of the sun, drinking and smoking, she's someone else entirely.

It's as if she's grown up, suddenly. She has that look about her, that look that tells people that she's suffered. She's not done what all the girls did at school when they decided that they were "grown up," she's not dressing like a slut and drinking until she throws up, she's still just Alex. She still wears her jeans, she still has a laugh that makes him want to plug his ears, but she's older,nonetheless.

She catches him staring at her and he takes a hurried pull from the bottle, choking, eyes streaming, as he swallows too much at once. She laughs at him, the smile creasing the corner of her mouth and her eyes sparkling in laughter as she snatches the bottle back, blows the end of the cigarette off and tucks the rest behind her ear for later.

He smiles lazily at her, stretching out to lie on the hot ground. He watches the colours change in the sky, and tries to ignore the occasional whistle of a bomb, falling on a city far away in the distance. He wonders if the war will ever end, but he dreads the day it does.

He wants the war to be over, everyone does, he wants the people at war to have wiped each other out, he wants the survivors, those that remain, to be able to get on with everyday life, but he dreads the end of this time with Alex, just driving wherever they want to go. He doesn't want to have to go home, to have to face up to the fact that his parents and little brother are dead. He wants a little more time for life to be easy.

Well, as easy as life can be these days.

* * *

He tries to persuade Alex that they should go to Canada, but she refuses, says she doesn't want to leave the heat of the desert states that they've been frequenting.

"Mexico, then," he says, trying to persuade her that they need to go, need to leave.

She tells him that she's not leaving, America is where they started the war, America is where they'll end the war. She says they don't need to leave, that they're dropping bombs everywhere, and crossing a border at the moment is suicide for a wizard, the check point guards are all government employees.

He pleads, but she refuses, and just pushes her foot down harder on the accelerator. She's days away from her 17th birthday now, and he's decided that she's responsible enough to be taught to drive, decided it's a necessity in case anything ever happens to him.

They cross into Texas, heading back towards the first town they stopped in, when they first ran from New York, the town in which they lost Max. They come back regularly, once every two months or so, checking in with the girl at the desk.

It's repeated time after time, this conversation, and yet they have it every time. She must be suspicious now, must be wondering why they haven't called the cops almost a year after their brother went missing, but this is war, and so she figures they must have a reason.

Alex pulls the car into the parking lot, coming to a stop with a squeal of protest from the brakes. They grab their bags, head into the motel. The girl looks up, recognising them, smiling and waving.

"Well, if it ain't my two favourite customers!" she says, still smacking her gum, cola flavoured now, instead of strawberry. "I reckon I've got something for you"

Alex is over to the desk in a flash, taking the parcel from the girl, nodding her thanks.

"Kid brought it in," the girl told them "dark haired, bit on the skinny side, said his name was Max. Asked if I'd give that to the guys who were looking for their kid brother."

Alex reads the letter quickly, passing it over to Justin and pulling out a handful of cash from an envelope. She looks at Justin in shock, counts the money and estimates it at somewhere near a thousand dollars.

* * *

They check in and go up to their normal room, still reeling from Max's letter. He sent them the cash because he '_wasn't sure how much cash you'd have left_.' Alex is still trying to process the fact that her little brother had run away to fight with the wizards. She can't believe that he would so something like that, that he would run away to fight for something so wholly _wrong_, without even leaving a goodbye note.

But he's alive. He's _alive_.

"He's alive!" she cries, flinging herself at Justin, who picks her up and swings her around. He buries his face in her hair and breathes in her scent, the musky smell of her cigarettes linger in her hair. He fights the urge to kiss her, but she's so close, and he's wanted to do it for _so long, _so he just gives in.

His lips land on her lips, soft and gentle. He closes his eyes cradles her head in his hands, runs his fingers through her hair.

He's kissing his sister.

He's _kissing _his sister.

He's kissing his _sister._

He wrenches his lips away from hers, runs a shaky hand through his hair, looking at her with wide eyes, worried she's going to run, flee like a startled deer.

"Shit, Alex," he whispers shakily, "I'm so sorry."

* * *

She'd like to say that it's an accident too, what happens next, because it would have never happened if it wasn't for the war. But it isn't an accident, she knows exactly what she's doing, and yet she does it anyway.

She grabs hold of his shoulders, and stands on tiptoe to press a kiss into the corner of his mouth, and then all across his face, ghosting across his eyelids, cheekbones, forehead, finally making her way down to his mouth. He groans and kisses her hard, bending down to meet her, arms encircling her, holding her, keeping her safe.

She reaches her arms up around his neck, breaking the kiss, resting her head on his shoulder.

It's just them, they don't have to explain.

* * *

beta'd by the awesome **augustmonsoon**, as always.

_Can I get nine reviews, and then I'll post the next chapter? :)_

**reviews are good, but favourites and alerts are just as nice :)**


	3. Fear

_But as I turned to walk away, a tear fell from my eye,  
for all my life, I'd always thought, I didn't want to die,  
I had so much to live for and so much left to do,  
It seemed almost impossible that I was leaving you._

– _Attributed to David Romano –_

-X-

They're running, running for their lives. Alex is choking on the dust, coughing, retching as they run, faster and faster, just running, running, trying to get away. The sweat is pouring down her skin, mingling with the tears streaming down her eyes as she frantically grasps her backpack and Justin's hand.

She can see their car, an oasis, a haven in the midst of the dust. Justin drags her towards it, faster and faster. She stumbles, would have fallen if Justin hadn't yanked her back up, made her keep on running. He pulls the door open violently, shoves her in, the backpacks in the back, running around to the driver's seat, pulling his t-shirt up over his nose and mouth to block the dust.

He guns the engine, driving fast, recklessly so in this dust. He's terrified; she can see that, because she is too. She's learnt that look so well the last nine months that they've been running, the sudden fear, the flash of realisation that they really are living in the middle of a war.

They were stupid, this time. They thought that they could get away with one night, just one night in Dallas. It's safe, or relatively so, there are few government officials, few of the wizards that were fighting. But they should have known, they should have known to keep to the small towns, the rural areas, they should have known better that to stay in a big city. There's always the chance that something would happen, that the fighting would break out again.

-X-

So they carry on driving, keeping to the back roads, skirting around big cities, big towns. They come across the border one day, unmanned, one patrol car passing by once or twice an hour.

He tries to persuade her, Mexico, its safe; nothing's as bad as it is in America. They can go anywhere from there, Africa, Siberia, Australia, somewhere with large expanses of open ground, they can hide, properly.

"It's dangerous anywhere," she protests, "they're fighting the whole world over."

"Anywhere, Alex, anywhere is safer than here."

She refuses, she can't leave Max, not now they know he's alive. She stands firm, says she can't, she can't go. She can't leave her brother.

She breaks down, sobbing in his arms, unable to comprehend that they really are running to save themselves. It's their life or Max's, and she can't make that decision, she can't choose her life over her brother's, but she doesn't have the courage to sacrifice herself.

So she lets Justin grab their stuff from the car, lets him drag her over the border and into Mexico. And they're running again, running from America, running from war, running to a new life. The dust is choking her again, but she's used to it now, so she keeps on running, she keeps holding onto Justin, onto her bag, lets him pull her away, far away, from the life they used to have.

-X-

They're Charlotte and Will now and they're from San Francisco, or so they tell everyone. They're backpacking, they say, last summer before college starts. They hitchhike, walk, ride buses, trams, trains, anything to get them further and further away from the war.

They're in Chile now, sharing hotel rooms, beds, experiences. They left the siblings relationship behind when they left America. Charlotte and Will aren't related, they're childhood sweethearts, spending as much time as possible together before they go off to separate colleges in the fall.

How they wish that were true.

They're at the airport now; they're waiting for a plane. They're going to Europe, London; the fighting's not as bad there. There are isolated outbreaks, but that's it. Nowhere is as bad as it is in America.

They say that they're slowly wearing each side down, slowly running out of supplies, men, bombs. They say that they've developed shields resistant to the spells, that they've developed protection spells resistant to the bombs. They say that it's not going to be as bad as they thought, they say it's going to be worse.

They say a lot of things.

Charlotte is tired of running, tired of running from things that don't concern her, not really, things that she doesn't understand, things she doesn't want to understand. She wants to stop settle down, forget the war that's soon going to be on the other side of the world.

She sleeps on the plane, her head resting against Will's shoulder. She looks so peaceful, so relaxed. Will smiles down at her, brushing the hair out of her face, pressing a soft kiss against her lips.

An old lady sees the two of them and smiles at Will.

"You take care of her, young man," she tells him, a faint Louisianan drawl to her worlds "that's a special girl you got there."

Will smiles and thanks her.

"I know, ma'am, damn special."

-X-

They get off the plane at Heathrow, biting their lips all the way through passport control. The fakes are good, really good, but they're nervous anyway. They sail through with no problems, though, grabbing their bags and walking out to find a taxi rank.

At any other time Charlotte would have squealed over the black cabs and the red double-decker buses, but she was too scared, too tired, too worried to care. They huddle in the back of the cab, Will's arms around Charlotte, her head on his chest, holding each other close, needing the comfort, the familiarity of each other.

They don't see a lot of England, the inside of a few buses, several hotel rooms, but that's it. They're just passing through, flitting from place to place, never stopping, never waiting. They're scared, scared to leave, scared to stay, scared to find out what might happen whatever they do.

They take the Eurostar, London to Paris, then Paris to Berlin, still Charlotte and Will, the backpacking tourists from San Francisco, travelling through Europe. They know that they're playing a dangerous game, but they've adopted their new identities now, and they're loathe to let them go.

They have to though, when they see a poster in Munich, asking for information on two American teenagers travelling together, never staying in one place long. Will swears, and rips the paper down, pulling Charlotte back to the hotel, pulling on her arm hard enough to hurt her.

They carry on, Berlin to Geneva, Geneva to Vienna, Vienna to Prague, changing nationalities at every border, Charlotte and William from Lyon, Charlie and Will from Southampton, Carlotta and Javier from Buenos Aires, never stopping, never staying in one place too long.

They keep their new names though, or variations of them, where they can. They don't want to be too many people; they don't want to lose themselves. They discard nationalities and languages as often as they change clothes, they don't want to change names too.

They're in Bucharest now, they're Lottie and Will from Johannesburg, there on their honeymoon. They see the sights, pretending to be happy, pretending to enjoy themselves. They take a ride to Transylvania, pretend to be interested in the stories their guide is telling them about Dracula.

-X-

Will wakes up one day, another bland hotel room, another big European city. He gently lifts Charlotte's head off his chest, slipping out of the bed and quietly padding across the floor to the window. He peeks out of the window, his heart skipping a beat when he sees the scene in front of him.

He turns away, and starts to shake Charlotte, gently at first, but harder, more urgently when she doesn't wake up.

"Charlotte," he whispers "Charlotte," louder this time, "Charlotte, Charlie, come on baby, wake up."

She doesn't though, and now he's desperate, he can hear the bombs again, something he had hoped he would never say again. He can hear them coming closer and closer to the hotel and he's frantic now, she he shakes her, harder and harder, needing to wake her up.

"Charlotte, Charlie," he shouts, desperation making his voice sound shaky, panicky, "_Alex_!"

She stirs suddenly, her eyes half open, looking confused. He sits back in shock; the name that has just passed his lips has been hidden under Charlotte for two years, she hadn't been Alex since they had been in America. Suddenly he's Justin again, 22 years old, running across Europe with his 19 year old sister.

They run again, leaving Europe behind, Asia, Australia, and all the way he tries to forget Justin and Alex, he tries to bury himself back under Will, tries to make Alex into Charlie again, and they keep on running, and running, hitting South Africa, Zimbabwe keeping going.

They're holding hands, deep in the Sahara, watching the sun set. It's Charlotte's 20th birthday, it's been two and three quarter years since the war began.

"D'you ever think of Max?" Charlotte asks, pulling on a stand of her hair, winding it around her finger, over and over again, "he'd be 18 now, an adult. We'd have had the competition already."

They're not sure when it happened, but they've both started talking about Max in the past tense. They don't hold out much hope of him ever being found, alive or dead. They wonder about the competition, wondering if they'll ever have it.

Will felt his magic solidify when he turned 21; they thought that that was it, in lieu of a competition the magic went automatically to the eldest. Charlotte still has her magic though, but they don't know how long that will last, if she'll still have it come her 21st birthday, if it would become permanent, or disappear.

-X-

The war is still raging, and they're still running, but they're slowing now, they're stopping to take in the sights, the sounds, trying to treat it like a holiday. They still hear the occasional whistle of a bomb, the crack of a spell, but they're so used to it now that they barely flinch.

They're meandering through a market in Marrakesh, holding hands whilst walking through the whirlwind of spices and colours. They've been here nearly a week now and Will's getting paranoid. They never stay in one place long, but they stay longer than a day now.

They leave the day after, after dark. They use Spanish passports and arrive in Spain, hoping to maybe find relatives somewhere, somewhere to stay, someone to help. They travel through Bilbao, Madrid, always looking out for someone whose name sounds familiar, someone whose face they recognise.

They don't find anyone though, no matter how hard they look, no matter how much magic they use. So they keep going, meandering through Europe, back through all the countries they'd seen before, slower now, on the lookout for someone who could help. The war's slowing, and so now they're looking for a way back, a way back into a country whose borders are closed to all but a select few.

Will turns 23, and then Charlotte turns 21, and she too feels her magic solidify inside of her. She knows she should feel happy, thankful that she still has her magic, without the pain that would have come from taking it away from her siblings, but she finds it hard to love something that has had her running for three and three quarter years.

They get married one day, a spur of the moment thing, jeans and converse, a small registry office in a dingy town in North East England. It's nothing special, but Charlotte looks beautiful, and Will looks like the happiest man in the world.

They have nothing, yet they have everything too.

-X-

It stops one day, as suddenly as it started. Charlotte wakes up that morning and can hear the birds singing, can hear the squirrels scampering up the trees outside the window. She lies still for a moment, her head on Will's chest, savouring the silence.

It's over; it's time to go home. They pack up their things and catch the first train they could find, arriving at the airport in whatever European country they're in now. They go through customs, using their real passports for the first time in four and a half years.

They land at JFK in the early hours of the morning, opting for a taxi instead of the subway. They arrive back at Waverly Place just as the sun rises, and although it's trashed, bricks lying everywhere, windows smashed, Alex snuggles further into Justin's side, and allows herself a small smile.

They've made it.


End file.
